Tessa's Call of Cthulhu

June - July 1925

Finishing what passes for coffee, Deacon reads through the Sunday Times. The majority of the paper is uninteresting, only two reports are worthy of further review. The first of these is an update on Italy, written from a right wing viewpoint, it is almost sycophantic in noting the ‘improvements’ introduced since Mussolini siezed power six months before.

It is the second report that fixes Thomas’ gaze, the story of an American teacher in the Deep South being accused of teaching the theory of evolution. Reflecting on the last few days, the theory of survival of the fittest has a far colder and more worrying connotation. Looking at his bloodied hand, and contemplating the two claymores resting on the bed upstairs, he reviews his diary for the last few weeks.

The letter from The Hon. Alexander Fletcher seems odd. The man is at best a meddling amateur, given to chasing after whatever foolish notion enters his head. At least returning to Glasgow will allow me to attend to some minor business regarding Alastair Cook status.

My trip to Glenelg at least offered me the chance to further ingratiate myself with Earl Marischal, and his slightly libertine sister. It also allowed for another check on Alistair’s progress, although the dig itself was of little use. Tomorrow’s meeting with The Hon. Connor MacDiarmid MA (Cantab) PHD (Edin)will at least let me know if there is any reason to investigate further.

Uncle Bob has asked me to check up on his old friend mentioned in the letter, so I suppose I’ll need to travel to Glencoe.

The fog was unusually agile, I would almost say hungry, as we entered the glen and sought our lodgings for the evening. I’m awaiting Gordon Campbell, who has a reputation for mad ramblings in the location. Connor is uncertain of the full story behind his retreat to the far north, but mental instability would seem to be part of the cause.

Friday 3rd July, Glencoe

If I didn’t have two claymores, hadn’t seen the remains of the bodies of the lost climbers in daylight, I would question my own memory of the evening. After meeting with Campbell, who aside from delusions of unspeakable horrors, seemed lucid and in command of appropriate faculties, we followed him to his lodgings. Connor was full of some dark foreboding for the old man. We would have been better served looking out for ourselves.

Around half-way through the evening, the fog grew denser, more eldritch. I should have realised at that point, that the marsh gas around the area had influenced our perceptions. What were clearly four enemy infiltrators attacked us, but to our eyes they seemed to be two animated skeletons, in the tattered remains of clan Iain Abrach colours, wielding claymores and two fresher corpses of walkers with ice-axes.

Shouting "Dh’ aindeoin co theireadh e’, the Macdonald battle cry, seemed to confuse the Bosch. This allowed me the chance to impale one of them on a wooden post. Utilsing my Savate skills, quickly dropped another, leaving Connor to dispatch the other cadaver.

One of the others was easily trapped in the cellar which allowed us to examine the corpse of Campbell, including an old diary. We made preparations against any further attack, but thankfully none came. Connor made some comment that the manner of Campbell’s death was suggestive of the prescribed method to execute a traitor. If this is the case, it may suggest Campbell had been betrayed by his fellow conspirators. It may also suggest a disturbing link between the Thule Society and the free-masons.

With the coming of dawn we burned the place to the ground to cover our tracks.